


Power & Control

by tonystarking



Series: Madness [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Angry Sex, Choking, Hate Sex, Loud Sex, M/M, Masochism, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Size Kink, Sticky, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, valve and spike
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 20:07:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6624427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tonystarking/pseuds/tonystarking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodimus leans into Megatron’s hand, his eyes roving up the bigger mech’s body. He presses his hand against Megatron’s chestplate, right over the Autobot badge, and digs his fingertips in. He’d scratch it off if he could, dig right through the plating to Megatron’s spark.</p><p>“I want you,” he says, breath catching, “to hate me like I hate you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Power & Control

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in hell and dragging everyone with me.

“Alone?”

The only tell that Rodimus is surprised by Megatron’s intrusion is the slight widening of his optics. And since his back is to the former-Decepticon, his face turned to the infinite blackness burning with a thousand points of light even brighter than his eyes, he’s sure Megatron doesn’t notice.

Rodimus shifts his weight from leg to leg, his curved hips rotating beneath his thin waist. “I dismissed Mainframe and the others. Ship’s on autopilot.”

Megatron steps to his side, not looking directly at him, and joins him in stargazing. His voice is soft when he speaks, and it’s always a surprise to Rodimus, who expects him to be full of loud proclamations and grand orders. But instead it’s a whispered question that tugs at his spark. “Would you prefer to remain alone?”

“No.” The word comes too quickly, before Rodimus even has time to think about the question. He should’ve said _yes_ and _go away_ and something hostile, but he’s invited Megatron to stay. And even if one part of him wants that, the other part of him wants nothing less than to start a fight, to have someone yell at him, for Megatron tell him everything he deserves to hear. Things that the stars don’t tell him.

“Then… Is there something troubling you?”

Rodimus scoffs. Perhaps he’ll get the fight he longed for after all. Dramatically he turns to Megatron and rolls his eyes. “What do you think?” he asks, each word as caustic as he can make it.

But then Megatron turns his optics on him, red like the last life of a dying star, and Rodimus’ spark stutters in his chest.

Megatron consumes him with his presence. He is a pale shadow next to the larger bot. And that’s part of the problem, isn’t it? That he has been demoted to _co-captain_ because of the former Decepticon leader? That everyone on the crew _prefers_ him to Rodimus?

And yet… Rodimus enjoys it.

Primus damn it, he _enjoys_ being at Megatron’s side, a thin blade of an Autobot that walks at Megatron’s shoulder. He knows the jokes, has heard the whispers. _Like he’s the new Starscream,_ they say. And while Rodimus wants to slam his head through his berth every night because of it, he also longs for it to be true.

The _fragging_ Decepticon.

Megatron’s face--placid, calm--never changes as he lifts his hand to Rodimus’ shoulder. He lets it linger, never touching him, considering, fingers hovering above him, threatening and tantalizing all at the same time.

_Just grab me already!_ The scream builds in Rodimus’ system until his hands shake at his side.

“The problem is with you,” Rodimus says. He smirks and tries to hide his hands. They’ll give away the truth if he’s not careful, if his words aren’t spiteful enough. “I can’t be alone for five seconds without you showing up and trying to tell me what to do.”

Megatron doesn’t take the bait, but does finally place his hand on Rodimus’ shoulder, as if his words were an invitation. And the heat of him--the heavy feeling of his hand against his body--makes it so much worse, doesn’t it?

“I’m sick to death of you,” Rodimus snaps, his hands forming into fists.

Megatron reacts instantly, his hand moving to Rodimus’ neck, his thumb putting a light pressure there so that Rodimus freezes. A defense in case Rodimus attacks, yet Rodimus _wants_ it.

Megatron’s voice, again, is cool, his tone mild. “What is it that you want, Rodimus?”

How can Megatron see right through him? _Fight me, you big idiot!_ But then, another thought, _Frag me until I scream._

Rodimus leans into Megatron’s hand, his eyes roving up the bigger mech’s body. He presses his hand against Megatron’s chestplate, right over the Autobot badge, and digs his fingertips in. He’d scratch it off if he could, dig right through the plating to Megatron’s spark.

“I want you,” he says, breath catching, “to hate me like I hate you.”

A pulse runs through Megatron’s frame, a tingle against Rodimus’ grasping fingers. Rodimus expects him to pull away, to sneer, to snap back.

He doesn’t expect retaliation.

Doesn’t expect exactly what he wants, for Megatron to wrap his hand around his throat and squeeze until his optics fizzle at the corners and his legs shake as his knees give out beneath him.

And he’s smiling-- _frag it,_ he’s smiling as Megatron steers him backwards and slams him over one of the control panels. Megatron releases his throat, and Rodimus gasps for air, his vision restoring momentarily as Megatron flips him over and slams his head down into the console.

Megatron leans over him, his weight against his back, his hand pressing so hard on his head it could dent. “I don’t care what you want, Rodimus.” Megatron’s other hand slips between Rodimus’ legs and manually releases his valve panel. A shock of pleasure runs up Rodimus’ spinal column as Megatron’s voice purrs. “I only care about what _I_ want.”

Megatron slips inside of Rodimus’ already dripping valve with no pretense, no warning, and Rodimus bucks against him, looking over his shoulder and--Primus! That’s just a finger?!

Megatron slams his head down again. “You will do what I tell you. Is that clear?”

_"Mmm!”_ Rodimus moans his assent as Megatron’s finger slips in and out of him, a pressure that Rodimus craves as soon as it is gone.

“I expect you to answer me,” Megatron says.

“Yes!” Rodimus’ voice is shaking, but he’d say anything, agree to _anything_ just to have Megatron give him what he needs. His hips wiggle back towards Megatron, but still Megatron denies him, his empty valve dripping lubricant down his thighs.

“It’s ‘ _yes, captain,’_ ” Megatron corrects.

Rodimus grunts, biting on his bottom lip. Megatron _knows_ how much this co-captain business irks him, and yet he’s using it this way--when Rodimus wants-- _needs_ \--this. “Please,” he moans instead.

" _Say it,”_ Megatron growls, two fingers swirling round the outside of Rodimus’ valve, never dipping in, staying _just_ out of reach.

And Rodimus breaks. “Yes, captain,” he says, clenching his eyes closed, the last shred of his dignity disappearing.

Megatron slams two fingers into Rodimus, in and out, so fast that Rodimus’ digs into the console beneath him. “Primus!” he cries.

“That should be my name on your lips.” Megatron doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow, as Rodimus’ gasps grow louder until he is moaning with each thrust, with each clench of his valve against Megatron’s fingers.

And just as he’s about to overload, Megatron pulls away and stands, taking wide steps back from Rodimus and leaving him draped over the console, shaking.

“No… no, no…” Rodimus pushes himself up, looks over his shoulder at Megatron. “Don’t stop…”

Megatron smirks, and it’s a smirk that’s been the same since the beginning of the war, haughty and disdainful and full of confidence--and Rodimus wants him, wants him so bad he doesn’t care how Megatron is the reason he has always known war, doesn’t care that Megatron is his captain and has taken his place on the Lost Light, doesn’t care about any damn thing other than Megatron himself as he seats himself in the captain’s chair and releases his spike.

His _huge_ spike.

“You’re--you’re--” Rodimus’ faculties are coming back to him little by little, but still not enough to form a complete sentence.

Megatron beckons him forward with the crook of a finger, and Rodimus stumbles over his own lubricant on the floor, his hips aching and longing.

Megatron takes Rodimus’ face in his, surprisingly gentle, his thumb brushing over his lips. “Tell me the truth. Tell me that you want me.”

Almost without control, Rodimus says it. “I want you.”

Megatron’s thumb slips into his mouth, digging into his cheek as he drags his face forward. “No. It’s ‘ _I want you, captain.’_ ”

And he does. Stars above, he does.

Rodimus stumbles to his knees, crouched between Megatron’s legs. “I want you, captain.”

Megatron presses a hand to the back of Rodimus’ head and guides him forward, and Rodimus can’t imagine how Megatron’s spike will fit in his mouth, but he wants to try anyway. His tongue runs up the underside and flicks the tip, and Megatron’s frame shudders as Rodimus’ lips hover over him--like he has some illusion of control.

“I want you, captain,” he says, meeting Megatron’s eyes before flicking away. He’s never been shy, yet he’s never been in _this_ position before, with a former warlord hellbent on breaking him in.

How he relishes it.

He slips Megatron’s spike into his mouth, tongue flicking over the length, and yet he strains, his jaw working to take more. But it’s not enough for Megatron, and his hands come to cradle Rodimus’ face as he builds a rhythm, shoving deep into Rodimus’ mouth as he gasps and chokes.

His hands dig into Megatron’s thighs, but Megatron doesn’t care, doesn’t even slow, and instead builds the pace until Rodimus is little more than a puppet that Megatron uses for his pleasure. His valve leaks fluid down his thighs, drips all the way to his knees, and Rodimus starts to slide a hand down to pleasure himself only for Megatron to seize his wrists and pin him still.

With his head free, Rodimus pulls back and gasps in lungfuls of the stifling air around them. His optics start to clear again, but he hasn’t seen straight since Megatron choked him.

“You want to overload?” Megatron asks.

“Yes, captain.” Rodimus doesn’t even hesitate in his answer.

“Tell me _exactly_ what you want.”

“I want…” _I want you to hate me like I hate you._ That had been his answer. But now… like this…

“I want you to frag me until I break. I want you to put your giant spike in me until I’m so full I can’t think of anything other than you--”

Megatron seizes him by the neck and drags him to his feet. Rodimus is never sure what to expect, the rough touch or the gentle one. Sitting in the captain’s chair, Megatron pulls Rodimus onto his lap, Rodimus’ back to his front, and seizes the smaller mech’s legs to pull them apart. With no balance, Rodimus leans back into Megatron and--Primus help him-- _trusts_ him.

“You want me to frag you?” Megatron asks, his lips ghosting over Rodimus’ neck. His spike, seized in one hand, brushes against Rodimus’ valve.

“Yes! Yes, captain, please--Megatron--I need it, I want it, I--” Rodimus tries to slip it in, but Megatron keeps out of reach. Rodimus knows he’ll only get it when Megatron decides it’s time, when Megatron decides _he_ wants to be inside of Rodimus. “What do you want me to say? I’ll say whatever you want. Please, Megatron, captain, please, frag me--”

Megatron slips inside and seizes Rodimus’ hips, and Rodimus has no chance to ease onto it, has no choice but to take it as Megatron’s hips buck into him.

Rodimus yells and moans. With each thrust, Megatron slips more and more inside him. It burns with such pleasure that Rodimus arches his back, wanting more and more and more as he builds towards overload.

“How--so big--you’re _huge_ \--I can’t take it--I want you--” It’s a constant stream of words even though Megatron removes one hand from his hip where he controls the rhythm to place it on Rodimus’ neck.

“Shut up,” Megatron growls, squeezing tighter, but it only makes riding Megatron’s spike even more electrifying.

“I want all of you inside me--all of your spike--so _big_ \--Megatron--” He can’t stop moaning, he can’t stop gasping and talking and he’s always been loud during sex but _this_ , this is on a whole new level and they’re in the control room and the door isn’t locked and this is with _Megatron_ but his spike--his fragging _spike_ is slipping all the way inside of him until--

“Aaahh!” Rodimus arches again, the overload shivering down his body, leaving him twitching and writhing against Megatron’s chest.

Megatron’s spike and his lap is so coated in Rodimus’ fluid, and Megatron controls him so well that Rodimus has no chance to fight, no chance to say no, as Megatron stands and pushes him back over the console, his chest resting against the ports and buttons. Rodimus just gasps, so spent, so stretched from Megatron’s spike, and yet Megatron continues.

Megatron’s rhythm grows faster, his hands clutching at Rodimus’ hips, tugging him back and forth as he builds towards his own overload. Rodimus’ entire body stings, the pain fresh after the pleasure, but he wants Megatron to overload, wants him to _use_ him this way.

“Frag me, Megatron,” Rodimus softly mewls against the console amidst gasps for air. “Frag me harder, Captain.”

When Megatron’s overload comes, he fills Rodimus with so much transfluid it slips out between his legs and pools onto the floor with the rest of the spillage. Megatron groans as he leans over Rodimus’ back, pinning him down, his hips pumping with the last bit of energy until both of them, completely spent, come to rest and simply breathe.

Seconds or minutes later, Rodimus isn’t sure, Megatron removes his weight from his frame, freeing him. He expects to feel guilt or shame or-- _something_ \--but there’s nothing but the lingering glow of pleasure. And something else, some need to do it _again._

Megatron steps back, says nothing as he puts his spike away. He looks at the floor as Rodimus rolls over. The room is trashed. From the captain’s chair to the dented consoles, it looks like they’ve been beating the slag out of each other.

In one way, they have.

Megatron looks over Rodimus’ splayed body then lingers on his face.

“... what?” Rodimus manages.

Megatron clears his throat. The mask descends. He’s back to the professional co-captain. “Clean this up,” he says, going for the door.

Rodimus watches him go, smirking. “Yes, Captain,” he says, and if he hadn’t been looking for it, he wouldn’t have noticed how Megatron stumbled at those words as he leaves the control room.


End file.
